The Wonka Chronicles III: Futile Feud
by Wonkaverse
Summary: The life of Willy Wonka's successor continues in space, while on Earth the fight with Chadworth draws steadily to an end. Meanwhile, a new threat is rising from the other side of the galaxy... Rated M for violence and some language. Definitely not a children's story anymore.


**Disclaimer**: All content relating to Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in either book or movie form belongs to Roald Dahl and related entities. Please note that we do own, however, creative rights to Grobe Incorporated and its lesser, if not unsavory, products and technologies. Thank you.

**Author's Note**: If you did not read any of our other stories, then you might not understand this at all. There will, however, be a brief recap. Please let us know what you think, either of the quality of this writing, the setting, even the length of the segment so that we can make each chapter shorter chunks. Deal.

**Recap**: The _Truth Behind the Tour_—tells us what really happened at Wonka's factory on the fateful day of the Golden Ticket Tour resulted in the unfortunate demise of the four naughty children whose names were not Charlie Bucket. Willy Wonka's brilliant cloning technology enabled him to make clones of the children to send back out into the world so that no one would know what had really happened.

_The Great Glass Catastrophe_—shows us the vicious KNIDS, the three brave astronauts Shanks, Shuckworth, and Showler, and the sad ending of the Bucket family when they are tragically murdered by one of Wonka's rivals, JR Chadworth.

_Wonka Chronicles I_—gives us a look into the ongoing high-tech feud between Willy Wonka and his rivals, the Chadworth family. This section ends shortly after Wonka manages to get his company into space, where he passes away from an untreatable disease.

_Wonka Chronicles II_—introduces us to Wonka's "heir", a clone of himself that also has some of Charlie Bucket's DNA. He becomes known as Charles (Charlie) Wonka, and takes over the now-interstellar Wonka Company. The main headquarters are moved from Earth orbit to the moon, where the company establishes the Lunar Base. Intelligence on Earth tries to investigate the strange activity in space, sending out three brave astronauts to do the job, but only one survives to be captured by the Company. During this time, the feud on Earth with Chadworth continues. Charlie Wonka takes up the torch and continues the fight in his father's place…especially after he comes into contact with Chadworth's infant daughter, Melissa and becomes determined to take her in as his own.

CH 1: Double Agent

He leaned down to look into the face of Shuckworth, the astronaut. In the aftermath of the mental reprogramming, the man's face was a blank mask of bemusement; two Oompa-Loompas had persuaded him to enter the briefing room and take a seat, but his actions were mechanical, almost drugged. Wonka glanced over at the Loompa in charge of the mental alteration process. "Tell me you didn't burn out his brain."

The other looked uneasy. "The human mind is such a fragile thing, my Fuhrer. It may take him some time to...adapt?"

Wonka leaned down and placed his hands on the arms of Shuckworth's chair, staring into the man's eyes. He raised his hand and snapped long pale fingers in front of Shuckworth's face. The astronaut slowly looked up at him, and Wonka's face split into a wide, toothy grin. "You had me worried there, Rocket Man! Now, let's start with the basics. Who are you?"

"Shuckworth, Captain, United States Air Force."

"Good, good. And…who am I?"

"Charlie Wonka..." Shuckworth's face suddenly seemed to light up as he said the name "...my employer, though I'm never allowed to tell anyone."

"I like this guy already!" Wonka said, his grin widening. "And, Mr. Shuckworth...excuse me, Captain Shuckworth...what is it that you are going to do for me?"

Shuckworth seemed to think hard for a second. "I don't know...but I will when the time is right." "EXCELLENT!" cried Wonka, clapping his hands together. "Well, it's been fun, but I think it was time you were on your way, Captain." Wonka turned to the attendant Loompas. "Get him cleaned up...and get him back to Earth."

"Yes, my Fuhrer."

Clad in his flight gear, Shuckworth was escorted to the hangar by a team of security Loompas. He frequently asked questions about where he was, or else stopped to gawk at some remarkable piece of Wonka technology, but his handlers were patient...as per the Fuhrer's instructions. At the rear of the group was an agent of the Wonka Secret Police, who would be the last Oompa-Loompa to speak to Shuckworth before the astronaut's return. As they entered the hangar, an attendant appeared at the agent's side and slipped him a vial of a potent candy-based serum. The agent smiled and hurried forward to walk at Shuckworth's side. "OS-56 at your service, sir," the agent said, glancing up at Shuckworth. The astronaut looked down and smiled confusedly. "What is this place?" "Rest assured, sir, all your questions will be answered soon," the agent said. The access hatch to the hangar opened, and instantly Shuckworth's jaw dropped to somewhere in the region of his sternum. The Antarctic hangar had been one thing; the massive dock of the Lunar Base was quite another. "Where...how...who are you guys?" Shuckworth gasped as his eyes roved the lines of parked spacecraft before locking on one in particular. It was among the largest ships actually stored in the hangar...though admittedly the most primitive. "That's my ship!" "Indeed, it is sir, indeed it is." "How did my ship..." "Not to worry. If you'll follow me, I promise you all of this will be sorted out. You will have all the information you need." The agent led Shuckworth to one of the transport vessels. The astronaut balked at the base of the ramp; with some encouragement, however, the agent managed to get him onboard. Shuckworth seated himself in the special human-sized seat that all vessels carried, in the event that the great Fuhrer should himself be a passenger. The agent growled in his throat at this necessary affront to the Fuhrer's dignity...there had not been time to install another seat. Shuckworth caught at least some small part of the sound, and glanced over nervously. "Did you...uh...say something?" The agent smiled. "Forgive me. Just something in my throat." Shuckworth still seemed a bit dazed as the ramp closed and prelaunch checks were completed; clearly the mental programming had affected him, but the agent was confident it would clear up...along with every memory of the Lunar Base, the Fuhrer, and everything else that had transpired over the last several days.  
>The agent touched his earpiece. "I have Shuckworth and am ready to proceed. All craft, prepare for launch." The pilot looked back from his seat further forward, and the agent nodded. "Let's do it." The pilot closed his visor and engaged his helmet radio. "Launch Control, this is Gamma One-Four, requesting clearance." "Gamma One-Four, clearance granted. Hold until the Auroras are clear." "Roger, One-Four out." The engines started, and Shuckworth glanced around nervously as faint vibrations hummed through the ship. "Where are we going?" The agent smiled. "You're going home." Through the cockpit window, two Aurora destroyers could be seen as they lifted off and rose upwards through the titanic airlock portal set into the ceiling. The massive hatch closed behind them with a reverberation that shook the agent's bones, and transmissions filtered through the transport's radio. "Viper Three, requesting shield deactivation." "Shield deactivation commencing...seventy-five percent power and dropping. Viper Flight, master arms cleared and authorized." "Roger...guns are hot."<br>The faint outline of the shield flared to brilliance and disappeared, and the two Auroras lifted from the lunar surface. While the KNID presence had decreased significantly in the last few days, there was always a danger. And Viper Flight was not disappointed...a dozen of the grotesque beasts appeared in short order. "I wonder how they do that," the systems officer of Viper Three said, musing aloud, "move through space, I mean. It's not like they have engines." The communications officer started to say something that involved the word "farts," but his voice was cut off by that of the vessel's commander. "I don't care how they do it, boy. All I care about is how they die." Brilliant flashes of energy licked from the prows and flanks of the Auroras, and the KNIDs burned like tissue paper against the blackness. "Viper Flight, targets neutralized. Gamma Group, follow us out." The pilot nodded, and the transport lifted slowly toward the massive launch portal, followed by the larger shape of Shuckworth's craft, which had been temporarily designated Gamma One-Five. The transport pressed almost against the top of the gigantic airlock in order to make room for the other ship, whose length just barely cleared the inside of the cavernous space. "That thing's going to lose some paint in here," the co-pilot observed, nodding in the direction of the government spacecraft. "By the time this mission's over, I think paint will be the least of the vessel's problems," the pilot replied, gingerly easing the transport to within three meters of the outer hatch. At last, the larger vessel cleared the inner lock, which sealed before the outer lock opened. His ship liberated, the pilot of Gamma One-Four cleared the surface airlock with a roar of thrusters, accelerating far beyond what regulation normally specified. Behind him, the other ship, product of the United States of America, eased out slowly and fell in behind as the three Wonka craft headed toward Earth.  
>Thirty minutes in, the pilot turned and looked back at the WSP agent. "It's time." The agent nodded, and the transport slowed, easing closer to Shuckworth's vessel. A Wonka-pattern airlock had been crudely integrated into the vessel's starboard flank...not that it would matter. There would not be enough left of this ship to ever identify the modification. The Wonka transport docked with a bump and a screech of metal, the pilot cursing the engineering crews who had been responsible for the airlock refit. The agent unbuckled and stood up from his seat. "Come along, Captain." Shuckworth obediently unbuckled his harness and followed the Loompa agent down to the vessel's hold. The airlock opened off the port side, and the agent quickly crossed the docking umbilical to the other vessel. Shuckworth stooped as he made the transition...but if the astronaut still found anything strange about the comparative size of his Oompa-Loompa companions, he said nothing about it. The agent shook his head as he watched Shuckworth stand to his full height again, still clutching his flight helmet with one hand...with the mental reprogramming in place, the man was almost like a child in his trusting obedience. The agent silently led the way forward to the cockpit of the vessel, where two Loompa crew members had been put in place to operate the ship. They were managing quite well, considering their disparity in size...one Loompa was standing in the seat, while the other had put a small cargo box to boost himself up to the point where he could see the control panel. "I'll take it from here, gentlemen," the agent said; as they turned and saw the identity of the speaker, the two crewmen snapped to. The one sniggered as his counterpart moved the box off of the seat...the second pilot shot him a dirty look, and made an extremely rude hand gesture when his compatriot wasn't looking. The two crew members disappeared, and the agent turned to Shuckworth. "Sit down, please," Shuckworth sat down at the controls, his expression still one of bemused obedience. "What is all this?" the astronaut asked helplessly for a final time, and the agent stepped forward to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. It was quite a stretch, and the Loompa could only do it because Shuckworth was sitting down. "I wouldn't worry about all of this, Captain. Soon you'll be home, and all of this...will just fade away." The Loompa now slid the hidden syringe into his palm. "Sweet dreams, Captain Shuckworth." There was a sudden sharp prick at the side of Shuckworth's neck, and the astronaut had time for no more than a cry of "WHA..." before he was unconscious. Now the agent reached into his trenchcoat and removed something else; another, larger injection device. This contained something known only to the Fuhrer and a select few, an implementation originally conceived to reeducate the more stubborn members of the workforce. Its existence was not to be known, not to the general population; the agent eased around to the far side of the pilot's seat, ensuring that Shuckworth's body shielded him from the view of anyone in the cockpit of Gamma One-Four. The agent also made another quick glance into the doorway, ensuring that neither of the vessel's interim crew were observing him...then he placed the injection gun against the back of Shuckworth's neck, and pressed the button on the rear. There was a brief puff and hiss as a tiny compressed air charge did its work; the agent pulled the gun away, leaving nothing more than a small red patch of skin. But the neuro-chip he had just injected was now sitting at the base of Shuckworth's brain...a true example of the Fuhrer's genius. It would not actually be possible to control Shuckworth remotely...no, that technology was still some way off, and something even the agent feared to see...but this small transmitter would relay back Shuckworth's position in real-time, every hour of every day, and would ultimately serve as the activator for the final phase of the mental programming. It would tell Shuckworth "when the time was right"...to do the Fuhrer's bidding, that was.<p>

The agent returned quickly to the transport. A few Loompas were just finishing work in the docking bay of the government ship, and they too now retreated to their own vessel. The pieces were all in place. The agent took one last look back at the vessel which was soon to be destroyed, and he marveled at its...primitive...ingenuity. It was no match for the Fuhrer's own, but, for the people of Earth, it was something. In terms of sheer cargo capacity, it nearly matched the heaviest transports of Wonka's fleet...it was a shame it could not be modified and added to the fleet's ranks, but it had already been thoroughly studied and its technologies recorded. The ship itself was now irrelevant. The airlock sealed, and Gamma One-Four broke away and turned back toward the Moon, accompanied by one of the Auroras. The remaining vessel would follow Shuckworth in a low-power state, ensuring that the astronaut was not intercepted by anything...unpleasant...before he could reach his destination, while at the same time hiding the destroyer from any sensor scans. In the control room of the Lunar Base, a technician Loompa turned from his console to look up at Wonka. "It's done, sir. Charges are set. Fifteen minutes until detonation."

A tremendous concussion slammed through his skull, and Shuckworth reeled from the blast. He was aware of blackness for a brief instant before his eyes again began to work, albeit in blurry fashion...the shock must have rendered him unconscious for the briefest of seconds. His vision blurred more severely, his ears rang, and instantly the cockpit was filled with screaming alerts. Smoke boiled through the ship, but then immediately began sucking backwards out of the cockpit, which could only mean one thing: decompression. The air started to thin and the sounds of the alarms grew tinny and faint as the life-giving atmosphere was sucked away; Shuckworth hurled himself toward his helmet, which was hanging on its rack, only to realize that the visor was broken. He started toward the emergency locker further aft, when a series of heavy thumps resounded through the ship and the deadly pull of air stopped: systems had kicked in, and the emergency bulkheads had deployed. "Engaging oxygen reserve," came a faint voice from the console, followed by a hiss as cold air was released into the cockpit. Still close to passing out, Shuckworth pulled a spare helmet from the locker and slammed it down over his head, breathing deeply as the helmet pressurized. Another rippling blast threw him off his feet, and he lunged for the control panel. Punching keys frantically, he brought up the master situation display: one of the fuel tanks had detonated, tearing a huge section out of the ship's starboard side (and obliterating all traces of the improvised airlock). Now, a secondary explosion had just blown out his main engines. Shuckworth looked out of the polarized cockpit windows properly for the first time, the bulk of Earth looming just ahead, not that there was time to enjoy the view. According to the computer, the ship was falling into the gravity well of the old home planet, and, without engines...A third explosion rocked the ship, and again the decompression alarm sounded...Shuckworth threw himself out of the pilot's chair and back into the tiny living compartment. "SHANKS? SHOWLER?!" Shuckworth's mind was a blur of thoughts...The docking bay has already decompressed...What if they had been inside when it did?...and then Shuckworth remembered what his mind had tried so hard to block out. The alien life-form. Shanks and Showler were already dead, and he was the only one. The ship was doomed...that much was clear. Dropping down a ladder to a small compartment at the bottom of the vessel's nose, Shuckworth entered the access code for the escape capsule with shaking hands. The hatch opened, and he threw himself inside. This ship had only been carrying three crew members on its maiden voyage, but it was designed for twice that many under normal operation...Shuckworth entered the sequence for launch, and then sat staring at the five empty seats. They seemed to mock him. _Your friends are dead._

There was a final tremendous jolt, and the escape capsule was free, hurtling down into Earth's atmosphere. The module rolled wildly for a moment, the limited view through the tiny portholes alternating between the blue of the ocean and the black of space with nauseating speed. A thruster fired and the view came to fix itself on the ocean below...though the visibility was soon obscured by the roaring orange flames of reentry. There was a long period of violent shaking and then the ride smoothed somewhat; at last there was a distant clang, a gentle jolt, and the descent slowed. Looking upwards through another tiny viewing port, Shuckworth could just see the shape of the recovery chute above him. He shook his head and tried to clear his mind for the first time, disturbed by the blank void that seemed to make up the past several weeks. He remembered a horrible alien creature, something out of nightmare, cutting its way into the ship. He remembered the desperate fight to contain the beast, and the final solution. With Shanks already disemboweled by the creature's razor claws and a dying Showler struggling to hold the creature in the docking bay, Shuckworth had opened the bay doors and had sent two dead men and a living, hideous creature out to face the depths of space. Though the alien had originally come out of the void, it had also been injured in the fight with the three brave astronauts; it could not possibly hope to survive with its innards exposed to hard vacuum, could it? It had been like the same monsters that had overrun the Space Hotel, only far more deadly and more horrible...Shuckworth shivered involuntarily as he thought of it. And the long ride home in a damaged spacecraft had been worse if anything...the alien had done significant damage to the drive systems, and so Shuckworth had drifted for two weeks in his cold metal prison, left with nothing but the memories of his fallen comrades. And then after the botched reentry...this capsule was supposed to be an emergency measure, not the standard method of return...two men dead, and a multi-million-dollar prototype spacecraft destroyed. This mission was nothing short of a disaster. But at least Shuckworth was still alive.

_Pentagon, Sublevel 13_

James Randall had been sitting quietly at his desk, musing the failed mission. He wondered where they had gone wrong, where they had slipped up in the program. They had at their fingertips, the most advanced technology on earth! So why did the mission falter? He shook his head, rising to get yet another cup of coffee to help ease his frayed nerves, when a technician stuck his head into the room. "Sir, you're going to want to see this! The prodigal spaceship has finally come home! … or what's left of it, anyway."

Randall slowly pushed the door open with one hand, poking his head into the chamber cautiously. Turning his head, he saw two men seated in chairs, facing each other. One was clad in casual wear, his hair freshly cut and his face clean shaven. This was the reputable Shuckworth.

"Captain Shuckworth!" Randall called out as he stepped into the room, grinning from ear to ear. The astronaut tiredly turned his head toward the voice, a blank look in his eyes. Randall noticed a red mark on the nape of his neck, but assumed it was merely one of the minor injuries he had received on his journey.

The man who had been debriefing him rose from his chair, exchanging a brief handshake with Randall before leaving the room. Randall stepped over and sat in the vacant seat, crossing his leg as he studied Shuckworth.

The man had suffered from more than just the loss of his teammates and a few weeks of loneliness in space; that much was clear just by taking one look at him. Though he had been cleaned up and given new clothes to dress in, it was difficult to ignore the dark blotches on his face and arms, results of something that he had not been able to reveal to the others who had questioned him. His eyes, too, seemed strange, empty and unfocused. Randall and his contemporaries would not know whether or not his mental capacity had been altered by this mission until he completed the physical and mental aptitude tests, which had been put off until they gathered a report from the man himself.

Randall shifted in his seat, making himself more comfortable. Looking to Shuckworth, he cleared his throat and spoke. "Mr. Shuckworth?"

The other did not respond, his gaze distant. He tried again, a little louder. "Mr. Shuckworth?"

The man still did not reply. Perturbed, Randall raised his hand in front of Shuckworth's blank face and snapped his fingers. As if broken from a trance, Shuckworth jerked, startled. He blinked twice, his panicked eyes locking on Randall. "US Air Force, Captain…"

"Mr. Shuckworth, please calm yourself; it's all right. I'm just going to ask you a few questions." The astronaut glanced about, as if seeing the room for the first time, then relaxed, this time his gaze attentively fixed on Randall.

"Mr. Shuckworth, your crew left Earth's atmosphere approximately seven weeks ago. After a forty-nine day lapse in communications with your ship, you reentered the atmosphere in the prototype's escape pod. Will you please recount for me what happened during those seven weeks?"

Shuckworth lowered his head in thought, nodding slowly. "We had just left the atmosphere, and everything was going well. I remember you wishing us good luck on the mission."

Randall nodded. "I remember."

Shuckworth continued. "It was about five hours later when the ship's sensors reported an incoming object…naturally, I wanted to be prepared, so I went and retrieved the others. We went to the docking bay, where we had heard a metallic thump, and…"

Randall raised a brow. "And?"

Shuckworth's eyes clouded with confusion. "…and there was a creature there that was like none I have ever seen. It was as big as a man, spiderlike, evil." He shuddered. "It must've cut its way into the ventilation shaft from the outside, allowing the ship to seal off the break before any alarms went off."

Randall listened intently, pondering the possibility. "Perhaps. But do go on."

Shuckworth wet his lips before he spoke, fear drying his mouth. "It attacked us. Shanks went first. The beast ripped him open…and destroyed our navigation equipment. Showler tried to drive it off before it destroyed the engines as well, but it was too late. The monster slashed at him, but he managed to cut it open, too. He shouted for me to open the dock doors…and I did. Now they're gone." He closed his eyes, desperate to choke back the sorrow which was rising in his throat. "I was alone in the ship for countless hours. All systems were crippled beyond repair; I survived using the oxygen and food reserves. I suppose the Earth's gravitational pull brought me back. I was forced to eject from the vessel because it was breaking apart upon reentry." He lowered his head. "I am a failure."

Randall reached over and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"No, you're not. You've proven two important things: one, our most advanced technology is really not that advanced at all…we must work on that. Two, man can survive against those alien life forms. And that may be enough of a result to raise the spirits and determination of everyone here." Shuckworth shook his head. "I just want to go home, sir." Randall nodded. "And you shall."

_Victoria, Texas_

The knock on the door had brought Chelsea running. Who was it? Someone with news of her husband? Of his death? His return? She opened the panel a crack, and peered out, standing still for a long moment. Suddenly she flung the door open wide, screaming in delight. Mark Shuckworth entered and embraced her, holding her close to his chest. Hearing the commotion, Billy and Stephen pattered down the stairs, their eyes lighting up with delight when they saw their father. "Daddy!" they cried in unison as they flung themselves forward, reaching out to cling to him. "You're back! We missed you so much!" He chuckled as he rubbed their hair with a rough hand. "I missed you, too." Chelsea looked up to him, desperation in her eyes. "Are you here to stay?" "They told me I have a month, in order to …recuperate."

She forced a smile. "That's great! You hear that, boys? Daddy's going to be here for a whole month!" To the two young boys, a month was forever. They smiled brightly. "Yay!" "We'll do so much together!"

Shuckworth looked on as his sons danced about with eager anticipation, smiling with the joy of finally having come home. He absently scratched the back of his neck, unaware that the chip that lay imbedded near his brain had begun to blink.

_Gyraxxian Nebula _

"Have the modifications been made?"

"Oh, yes, sir. I think you will find them most ingenious."

"Show me." The genetic engineer nodded, a mischievous grin appearing on his face as he led Grobe into the lav. They walked down the corridor, the scientist prattling on about the capabilities they attempted to put into the KNIDs. "We came to the point where we had subjects of multiple varieties. We thought I would be best if you selected the best candidates for cloning."

Grobe grunted, continuing to follow. They entered a chamber, bright lights making Grobe squint. This was the laboratory. Strange sounds echoed through the room, a mixture of beeps, high-pitched hums, and the various snarling emitted by the test subjects. After a moment, they came to stand in the center of the chamber, in the midst of several cages that contained the experiments.

"We've narrowed the selection down to three models: KNIDs that have heightened defensive, offensive, and camouflage abilities. For instance," he said while stepping toward the closest cage, "This one is armored with titanium-steel amalgamate, which makes it resistant to impact damage and electric shock." The creature, still retaining the mantis-like form, was shiny, its silver plating glinting in the bright light. Its scythe-like forelegs were coated in the silvery substance as well, flashing as the vicious creature slashed the air. "The metal plating also gives it a more deadly killing ability, giving its scythes the likeness of the sharpest blades."

Grobe stared on, clearly pleased. Encouraged by his master's pleasure, the scientist stepped toward another cage, nodding to passing scientist, who eyed Grobe uneasily before passing.

"On several occasions, we have tried to put a deadly defensive mechanism into the creatures we engineer- electro shock, poisonous spines, self destruct. But this one seems to have been the best, since it is easily applied to the KNIDs without causing internal damage to them." He pointed to the creature inside the cage, a normal-looking, overly furious KNID.

Grobe frowned. "What's so different about this one?"

The scientist grinned nervously. "This one lacks in outer impressiveness; the real damage is wrought when this KNID is damaged. If it loses a limb, acidic blood will spray out of the wound before it heals. The acid is potent enough to eat through three feet of steel before it neutralizes."

Grobe grunted in acceptance, though there was some doubt in his eyes. "And the third model?"

The scientist looked toward the third cage, a slight smile spreading across his face. "You tell me what you see."

Grobe looked into the cage for several moments, and shook his head. I see nothing. You weren't lying to me, were you?" a glint of anger sparked in his eyes.

"N-no, sir. Certainly not." he pressed a button on the console beside the cage, which controlled the environmental system for the container. The crackling of loosed electricity was audible despite the din of activity in the chamber, followed by a roar of fury from the presumably empty cage. Grobe stared into it, the serpentine form of a modified KNID seeming to materialize into view. He looked back to the scientist with a startled expression. The other grinned.

"Camouflaging capability, the most advanced we could put into a biological creature. Do you like it?" Grobe nodded, still looking surprised by the creature's sudden appearance. "These are your candidates?" "Yes, sir. Which one do you desire for use in the field?"

Grobe paused for a moment, a dark look in his eyes. If it were not for his beak, he would have been smiling craftily. As it were, he spoke, his voice expressing all the astuteness his facial expression could not. "All of them."

"Excuse, me?" The scientist asked, incredulousness in his voice. Grobe's expression hardened. "Did you not understand the first time? Are you hard of hearing?" N-no, sir."

"Good. Then I will repeat. Use them all against Wonka. In what order you decide to send them, it does not matter. But do not let the human get the best of you." When he finished his command, Grobe turned and walked out of the chamber. The scientist swallowed his fear, turning to the scientists who had gathered to watch. "We need to begin the cloning process immediately." "Yes, sir."

_England, Subterranean Level_

"You are to be trained and assimilated into our forces, every one of you." Sergeant McCullers said sternly as he paced in front of the gathered crowd. He scanned their faces, each displaying fear and bewilderment. _A good sign_. "After you each undergo the medical examinations, your occupation will be chosen for you according to your age, gender, height, weight, and physical health." He paused, eyeing those who stood nearest him. "We will make soldiers of you yet."

JR Chadworth was seated at his desk, shuffling through numerous documents on his desk. It was almost as if nothing had happened, he thought, except that the papers he was now reading and signing were related to the darker side of humanity, people and corporations asking for the protection of the Xavier Project mercenaries, or a request for the assassination of some important individual. Of course, what they offered in return was no small payment; the potential clients were all very wealthy, many offering some millions of dollars in exchange for the services of Chadworth's men. And now, he was deciding which of these patrons he would assist. He found it strange how the life or death of a man could be determined by the twist of the wrist, by a single mark which would seal his fate for an eternity. But he did not dwell on the thought for long; philosophy had long since lost its hold on him. Honor and loyalty, chivalry and obedience no longer had any meaning for him, his own code having been eliminated with the destruction of his family. Shuffling anew, he came upon a plain envelope, the return address revealing it had originated from America. Grabbing the envelope opener from the end of his desk, he tore the packet open, withdrawing a sheet of paper from within it. He unfolded it and held it up to the light, skimming the text. It was a résumé, from a man named "Shuckworth". How he got the address for Chadworth was beyond him, considering this location was supposed to be secret, and that JR's main residence had been totally obliterated. Of course, if anyone wanted to apply for a position, they would have connections in high places… Chadworth glanced at the references section, and noted NASA and the U. S. Air force listed, along with their numbers. He wondered briefly if he should check their validity, then thought better of it. The United States government had caused him enough trouble already… it was a wonder the English intelligence agencies hadn't caught wind of the federal agents who had come to take him away. But this man, Mr. Shuckworth, may be an exception to Chadworth's dislike for Americans. He appeared to be a valuable asset from the look of his application, but he would have to see for himself. Chadworth made a note to schedule a personal meeting with the man.

_Dallas, Texas_

"Thank you for agreeing to meet me here, Mr. Chadworth." Shuckworth said while grasping the other's hand in a firm shake. "But my wife would have had a fit if I tried to go to another country so soon after returning home." Chadworth gave a small smile. "No need to explain, Mark; it's perfectly all right. I suppose one could say I needed to get out of the country." Shuckworth gave a slow nod, leaning over the table that separated them. He spoke lowly. "I noticed that you arrived in an unmarked plane. One of yours?" Chadworth nodded. "One of the perks of having your own corporation is that you own everything." He stopped, leaving out the fact that he had come in his own plane because the feds surely would have tracked him down if he had come any other way. He coughed, returning his gaze to Shuckworth. "So, what makes you think you should work for me?" Shuckworth shifted his gaze, as if searching his mind for an answer. "From what I have read about you, sir, I know that you are a man of many occupations. You have owned a candy business, the company for which I actually intended to work." "That business is gone," Chadworth said heavily, "I sold out just last year." Shuckworth nodded. "I know. But I hear there are other assets which you are owner of…a group of mercenaries for instance?" Chadworth's blood ran cold, and he threw a glare at the man. Shuckworth seemed untroubled by the scathing look that Chadworth gave him, smiling in self-satisfaction. "What do you want?" Chadworth said through gritted teeth.

"I want to help you," Shuckworth replied, the sly look in his eyes hauntingly familiar.

Chadworth felt a chill run down his spine, but he pushed the fear away. "How?"

"By assisting you in…" Shuckworth stared past Chadworth and became very still. Chadworth began to turn to look in the same direction, but Shuckworth gave a slight shake of the head. "Don't move."

"Why not?"

He hesitated. "Two government agents are coming…for you, I think. They're walking this way." Chadworth flashed an obscene look at Shuckworth. "You set me up!" he growled. "You're working with them, aren't you!" Shuckworth remained still, a look of grim determination on his face. With inhuman speed, he pulled out a pistol from beneath the table and fired twice, both shots going past Chadworth and into the hearts of the two agents. The sound of gunfire sent everyone within hearing range into a panic. Screams of "Gunfire!" and "Get down!" only served to add to the frenzy, creating the perfect cover for the culprits to escape. Shocked by almost being caught, and with almost being shot, Chadworth made no protest as Shuckworth urged him to his feet and ushered him out of the building. Once in the relative safety of the backseat of a taxicab, JR Chadworth came to his senses. He dipped his head in gratitude to Shuckworth. "Forgive me for doubting your intent in the beginning; I believe you now."

"You had your reasons,"

"But now I am sure of your purpose… you're hired. As my bodyguard."

Shuckworth made no answer except to smile at his new employer.

_Victoria, Texas_

"What do you mean, 'gone rogue'?" Chelsea asked the informant incredulously. The other met her gaze steadily. "He shot two government agents, killing them instantly, and helped a suspect escape."

"Where is he now?"

"That, I do not know, ma'am. We thought he might come here."

Chelsea gave him a distrusting look, but shook her head. "He isn't here. He hasn't been home for the better part of the day."

"And now you know why."

Chelsea gave a low growl. "I would never believe my husband would do such a thing. It's not like him!"

"People are often prone to change," the other said cautiously. Chelsea shook her head again. "Never. Mark would never-"

"Do you know where he was during the weeks of his disappearance?"

This stopped her short, her anger momentarily quelled by curiosity. "No, I don't."

"If you come with me, I'm sure I can find someone who is authorized to tell you the truth about the matter."

She was tempted to say yes, but cast a worried glance in the direction of her sons, who were watching from the living room. "And my boys?"

"They must come as well. Please understand; it's for your own safety."

Chelsea set her jaw. "Very well. We will go with you… as long as my questions are answered."

_Pentagon, Sublevel 13_

James Randall paced agitatedly as he listened to an agent recount the turning of events. "We traced the suspect, shadowing him for a few weeks as we observed for suspicious activity. But he's a sly one, that Mr. Chadworth. He…"

"Chadworth?" Randall interrupted, turning his head.

"Yes, sir. JR Chadworth, the former owner of Chadworth Industries."

"This is… unbelievable." Randall muttered, "Wasn't that a candy company?"

"Looks can be deceiving, sir. He has managed to slip away from surveillance on several different occasions, including today."

Randall paused, musing. "You said that Shuckworth is with him?"

"Yes, sir. For some reason, he has become a cohort of Chadworth's."

"Are you sure it is for his own interest?"

The agent nodded solemnly. "He killed two of our operatives, helping Chadworth to escape in the ensuing chaos."

Randall stood still, his hands clasped behind his back. "Mr. Riedeger, please understand. I need you to find and apprehend this man. If he can break into our systems and make a convert of one of our own men, he is not a force to be toyed with, but destroyed."

The other folded his hands, resting them on the table. He looked to Randall. "I assure you, sir, that we will capture him soon. He has escaped from view again, but when he is located, we will stop at nothing to bring him in."

Randall grunted in disappointment, but nodded. "If it is all you can do, so be it."

A rap at the door made both men turn their heads. "Enter." The door opened, a hesitant attendant poking his head in. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, sirs, but a Mrs. Shuckworth is here, and requests to be given some answers." The familiar name made Randall tense, but Riedeger remained calm. "Send her in; we will both speak with her. The other bowed, and left. Moments later, another knock, softer this time, was heard. "Come in."

The door swung open, a nervous woman entering. She looked suspiciously to Randall, then to Riedeger, but said nothing. Riedeger rose from his seat and held out a hand, his face solemn, yet inviting. "Hello; I assume you are Chelsea, Mr. Shuckworth's wife."

She nodded. "Yes… they told me that you would answer my questions."

"All in good time, madam. "Please have a seat." He offered her his chair. She sat.

"I am Ian Riedeger. This man is James Randall, your husband's superior. We will do our best to satisfy your curiosities concerning your husband."

She nodded, her eyes concerned and calculating, then spoke. "What happened to Mark? Where did he go for those weeks he went 'missing'?" The men exchanged a glance, as if deciding whether or not to tell her. Riedeger gave Randall a nod. "Tell her. She is here to remain for an indefinite period of time, anyway."

Randall turned to look at Chelsea. He hesitated. "How much do you know about outer space, Mrs. Shuckworth?"

"Only what my husband tells me, that it is 'endless and cold, filled with dangers that few can fathom'."

Randall nodded. "Which is true. And he knows because he himself experienced it firsthand." He began pacing again, drawing a disapproving look from Riedeger, which he ignored.

"On the night your husband went missing, he had been selected to be a test pilot for a new type of aircraft, one that could go into outer space." Chelsea raised a brow, but remained silent. Randall continued. "He and the other crew members managed to make a good takeoff and atmospheric exit, and we were confident that all was going well. But after five hours into the test, we lost contact with them." Chelsea's eyes grew wide. "But…"

"We don't know what happened after that, except what Mark told us when he returned. The technicians who had been sent to recover the pod found him inside the capsule, alive, and let him out. They said he was beside himself with fear and bewilderment, but his confidence improved after we brought him back to base and got him cleaned up. We tested him after that to see if he had been affected by the unfortunate journey; however, the results show nothing extraordinary. But still… he seems changed." Randall glanced at Chelsea. "In the time that he was home, did you notice anything different about your husband?"

Chelsea paused to think back, then nodded. "Come to think of it, there was something… strange about him. He seemed more withdrawn… and sometimes he would smile coldly for no reason. When I would ask him if something was wrong, he would shake his head, and smile sweetly at me, as if _I_ was the one who was odd… something altered him during that mission, didn't it? Something other than solitary confinement?"

Randall gave a hesitant nod, ignoring the irritated expression from Riedeger, who had grown tight-lipped over the secrets that had been unearthed through this conference.

"We think he has been changed through contact with sentient beings."

"You mean, aliens?"

Randall sniffed in amusement. "Yes, something like that."

Chelsea's eyes grew misty. "He was always telling the boys stories about his encounter with aliens in the Space Hotel; big, oily brutes that wanted to eat him and his men."

He looked at her seriously. "Did you believe him?"

She bowed her head. "Honestly, I don't know what to believe anymore."

"But I do. I believe what I see and hear, and I, along with more than a dozen others, saw extraterrestrials in the ether where we had lost contact with your husband."

Chelsea wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Where is he now?"

The two men glanced at each other. Riedeger spoke. "You don't know?"

She shook her head. "He wouldn't tell me where he was going before he left. I had assumed it was work related, but the person who came to get me and my sons said he shot someone… is that true?" Her eyes begged them to tell her otherwise, but both nodded solemnly.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Shuckworth; it is the truth."

"No," was the only word she was able to breathe as her mind sought the reasons for which this might have happened. "Why did he do it?"

Riedeger turned his face from her, his tone grim. "We don't know. But we will find out; Mr. Shuckworth holds knowledge that could do great damage if given to the wrong people. Our suspect may be one of them. It would be best if the rogue was captured… or destroyed."

Chelsea looked at him open-mouthed, as if she couldn't believe the man's audacity to predict her husband's death in her presence, but he met her glare flagrantly.

"And what about my sons… and me?"

Randall turned to her, his eyes soft. "You must stay here; it will be safe for all of you." "But…"

"No objections," Riedeger said coolly, moving away from the table. "Your husband will no doubt come for you sooner or later. His reasons for shooting may have to do with a psychological change, meaning his actions will be unpredictable, even to his own family. He walked to the door. "You and your sons will remain here; Randall will find accommodations that will suit you until we apprehend Mr. Shuckworth." He left.

Chelsea looked helplessly to Randall, who cleared his throat. "I suppose you must come with me, Mrs. Shuckworth. I'll find you and your children suitable quarters."

She nodded, then turned to follow.

_Lunar Base_

"Sit."

The Oompa-loompa, dressed in a dark trench coat, obeyed, sitting in the miniaturized chair, the seat creaking slightly with the added weight. Wonka stood before him, his hands clasped behind him.

"So tell me; how is our double agent?" He smiled knowingly.

The other grinned as well before answering. "Very well, sir; he has done as he was programmed; following the explicit orders written into his mind, he applied for a job under Chadworth and was accepted."

Wonka's grin became even wider, if that were possible. "Excellent; then all is going according to plan." He stopped when he noticed the slight frown on the agent's face. "What is it?"

"Just a minor problem, my Fuhrer. In order to appease Chadworth, Shuckworth was required to kill two federal agents in order to protect his boss-to-be."

"Which he did with speed and cold precision, I assume?"

"Yes, as his newly ingrained skills require."

"And what is so wrong with this?"

"Well, he's a fugitive now, a killer."

Wonka threw the agent an amused smile. "Isn't that what he was programmed to become anyway? Someone who kills?"

"Well…"

"And he will," Wonka said, his eyes darkening, "when the time is right."


End file.
